Into the Vanishing Cabinet
by ElfMaidenOfLight
Summary: What if it hadn’t taken Draco so long to fix the vanishing cabinet? What if the plan had gone awry? Amidst the turmoil of Lord Voldemort's uprising, Malfoy's sense of pride, duty, and Hermione Granger have somehow become inexplicably linked.
1. Rubies

_What if it hadn't taken Draco so long to fix the vanishing cabinet? What if the plan had gone awry? Amidst the turmoil of Lord Voldemort's uprising, Malfoy's sense of pride, duty, and Hermione Granger have somehow become inexplicably linked..._

Into the Vanishing Cabinet

* * *

**Rubies**

* * *

There was no other action she believed to so indulgently blissful than that of a bubble bath. To feel the heat of the crystal clear water moisten every inch of you- to feel it melt away all resolve- that was pure heaven. Aside, of course, from scoring a one hundred on one's Arithmancy test.

Yes, Hermione Granger thought, pure heaven. She pushed a particularly dirty lock of hair back up into its bun and hugged her sweater tighter.

It was nearly one in the morning, perhaps a little after even, but she hardly took notice. She had been working on a particularly challenging essay for Potions, resolving to finish it in one go rather than putting it off, as she was likely to do with her two best friends always thinking up weekend schemes that pulled her away from her work.

Everyone else had gone to bed, yet _she_ was slinking down to the Prefect's bathroom for a long soak.

It was just what she needed.

Hermione rounded the corner, the door to the bathroom just up ahead.

Inwardly, she smiled, hardly able to contain her excitement over the fact that, in just a handful of moments, she would be out of her sweat things and into the comfort of hot water; then a quick change into the silky shorts and overshirt she held in her hand. Two gold towels and her wand rested on top of her laden arms.

Oh to sink into a frothing mess of bubbles and water.

Her hand came to close around the room's door handle, and she pushed firmly down, feeling the spring coil back and the weight of the unlocked latch pull back against its brackets. With an exaggerated sweeping motion, for the door was prone to squeaking if opened slowly, she strode into the room.

Her body froze; mind suddenly blank.

Across the stone tile floor, sprawled upon the raised steps butting the bath's wide rim, Draco Malfoy was bleeding rubies all over the white marble.

He wasn't wearing his school robes, but a simple pair of black slacks and a similarly colored collared shirt; a full-sleeved cloak hanging around his shoulders. All this she could see quite plainly, for he was positioned in such a way that his legs were sprawled out in front of him and his back was nearly flat upon the outer edge of the pool.

His right arm, his wand arm, was bare through the sleeve of his torn robe, and it was from the gash there that the blood so elegantly fell, leaving rivulets of red to skitter down to the overflow drain upon the floor. The whole of his left hand was wrapped around its counterpart's, as if it would stem the stream.

His wand was lying next to his person, forgotten at that moment.

He looked up, undoubtedly surprised, yet his stunned gaze fell sharply away until his face mirrored the most calculated degree of rage Hermione could have possibly imagined.

She barely had time to react, her bewilderment cut short as the man across the room gave a start to grab his wand.

"Accio!"

The towels and clothing had fallen to the floor just when his wand was firmly set in her free palm. Hers was already drawn and pointed.

For another moment, they both were silent; the only sound echoing around the bathroom seemed to be Malfoy's heavy breathing.

A thrill of terror and escalating curiosity broke through Hermione's stunned façade.

"I'm getting a teacher," she turned sharply on her heel, dismissing instantly her dropped things.

"No."

She didn't have to stop, she had his wand, but there was a feeling, a tone in his voice, which caused her to pause before she was able to escape. A chill, an icy foreboding, ran like ribbons up her spine. As quickly as she could manage, which was painfully slow, she turned around.

There was a smudge of red, just a whisper of a stain, upon his left cheekbone, and the startling color against his already pale, but now deathly white skin, was unfathomable.

"You're bleeding."

His eyes, which had never left hers, flitted for an instant on some other aspect of the room before fixating themselves back upon their original target. He licked his lips, which she noticed seemed raw and chapped, "It would appear so, Granger."

Her name was a curse to fall from his tongue, always an expletive.

"What were you trying to do?" Hermione was still felt rooted to the spot, yet now she was unsure if she should be sprinting out the door or chastising him for his lack of propriety. Bleeding all over the bathroom, honestly.

"Just… leave," his eyes were on his wand, "Don't breathe a word, Granger, or I swear to God-" Malfoy broke off, shaking- but from the apparent pain in his arm or from anger Hermione really couldn't tell.

Cautiously, she took a single step forward, and he became stalk still, like a caged animal, yet she could still see the way his body quivered very slightly in the light. Although the sensible side of her screamed that _this was so very wrong_, Hermione reached behind her, grasped the handle, and closed the door.

"I'm not getting a teacher." She winced at how much it sounded as if she were patronizing him.

A muscle in Malfoy's jaw twitched.

"I'm not getting a teacher," she repeated, leaning down to his level, "if that's what you want, but you're bleeding very badly." Hermione took several small steps forward as she spoke, her wand arm out, Malfoy's wand secure in her left fist. "I'll help."

Sharply, unexpectedly, the boy across from her sucked in a whistling breath. "I do not need help from the likes of _you_. If I were you Granger I'd turn tail and run right about now. I'll snap your neck if you come any closer."

"I have your wand."

"I'll choke you with my own two hands, Mudblood."

"Ah, one hand, Malfoy. The other doesn't look like it'll be doing too much right now."

His glare could kill on contact if she'd let it. "Bitch," was the whisper that barely passed his lips.

"Hey!" Hermione spat with a ferocity that surprised even her. She flicked her wand at him menacingly. "You don't want my help? I'll tell Dumbledore."

Much to her surprise Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, barking out a single laugh before relaxing against the marble steps. He looked spent. That last little speech seemed to zap the last remnants of his strength; he started coughing. "Bloody hell, Granger. You know, I've decided I really don't give a _fuck_ what you do…" he turned a bit, grimacing, whispering to himself. "God _damn_ it hurts…." His eyes flickered to her, and his voice took on a too-sweet simper. "Give me my wand and I'll let you go."

Advancing further, Hermione shook her head. "You won't be able to cast a proper healing charm, and if you said no teachers, then I'm assuming no Hospital Wing either." She approached the steps and peered over at Malfoy, giddy and frightened that she was now standing so close to him.

Slivers of silver shuttered as Draco blinked, lashes quivering over steel-grey eyes; he was staring at her.

A weight plunged into her stomach.

Oh God. Oh_ Merlin, _what am I doing?

Hermione knelt on the bottom step, level with Malfoy's shiny black loafer. "That cloak needs to come off."

For a moment, no one moved. Again, the only sound was Malfoy's heavy breathing. He was still watching her, and Hermione looked up right back at him. Their gaze locked for what seemed longer then necessary, and Hermione was thrown off kilter. It was the kind of look that seemed to sear into the very core of her, where nothing was kept safe, where he could see her plainly, so she might very well have been the one lying vulnerable on the floor.

What was he trying to do? Figure out her intentions?

It was another moment before Hermione realized she had forgotten how to breathe. A long shuttering intake of air racked her body.

At this Malfoy smiled, slowly, like a snake, like he was pleased with himself.

She didn't realize how long she'd been lost in the storm of his eyes until he broke the contact, looking down at his injured arm. As Hermione tried to compose herself, she could see the options being weighed out in Malfoy's mind. Finally, self preservation weighed out, and he seemed to think that letting her mend him was a far more reasonable option than continuing to bleed all over the place.

He tensed his legs, bracing his knees as he tried to sit up. "I can't…" his voice broke off as he realized he was admitting defeat. Malfoy clenched his left fist. "I can't get the cloak off without… _pain_."

Slowly, as if quick movements would ruin everything, Hermione scooted up a step, leaning over Malfoy's left leg to get a better angle. "Here," she said simply, muttering a charm that dissolved the ripped cloak at the seam of the right arm up to the shoulder. As the cloth fell away, she was able to see the starkness of the blood against the paleness of Malfoy's arm.

"Oh my," she murmured. "That's quite deep."

"Brilliant," was the reply.

The gash ran from the inside of Malfoy's elbow down about five inches.

Pursing her lips, Hermione shifted her weight back onto her heels as she stowed the extra wand in her back pocket. "I'm going to prop you up a tad. That way, we can slip the cloak off your right arm."

"You're going to _touch_ me?"

A noise bubbled up from the back of Hermione's throat, dripping with sarcasm. "Oh no, only the cloak. It's ruined anyway, my germs won't bother you." A pause. "If that's really what you're concerned about Malfoy, then perhaps you should take a look at your arm and re-evaluate your situation."

This time he did smile, albeit weakly. "Right," he drawled.

With an uncharacteristic groan of strain, Malfoy sat a bit further forward as Hermione moved to wrap an arm round his upper shoulders. It was a challenge for her, his frame was broad and boney.

A blush bloomed on her face.

When had he grown so?

She remembered the small boy from her first year. This young man was not that boy.

Small pants of pain leaked out of Malfoy's lips as Hermione pulled him into a better sitting position. Going from his back to his shoulders, she grasped at the torn right side of the cloak, pulling it down off Malfoy's arm, but stopped.

Just above the forearm she halted. One, her fingers, clenched, were brushed against Malfoy's skin, which was very odd in a tingling sort of way. Two…

What would she find branded upon the pale flesh once uncovered?

Her 'patient' seemed to register her thoughts, for he watched her too, with what seemed like rapt fascination. Once again their eyes met, but briefly, as Hermione looked away. She pulled the cloak down to his wrist, eyes wide.

The Dark Mark?

No.

Nothing.

There was no sick band of black wrapped around the otherwise warm porcelain skin. It was clean and smooth and unbearably warm.

"What, Granger?" At this, she look at him. "Surprised?" The sneer curled his lip back.

Her mouth was wide open.

"I-"

Fast rising heat made her head swim.

"I- sorry."

Malfoy huffed and looked away, shrugging off the remainder of the expensive cloth. It flowed into Hermione's lap like water rippling over stone. As she gathered it up the scent woven into the stitching reached her, and Hermione was reminded vividly of the almond wood smoke from the Common Room hearth fires; that, and a rich cleanness- like rain. Folding the cloak into a square, she set it upon the floor.

She drew a shuttering breath, pointing the tip of her wand at Malfoy's damaged arm. "Theophorsis." The flow of blood lessened immediately to barely an ooze. "Alright, let me see…" her motherly instincts took over, pushing away the nagging, buzzing questions flitting about her mind. It didn't matter who it was; Draco Malfoy or Ron Weasley, she was determined. "Here, Malfoy- your leg."

Despite the look he was giving her, Hermione stood and moved so she was kneeling in between Malfoy's ankles, leaning up towards him. She could hear his breathing grow shallow. A blush crossed her face.

"Let me see the arm."

Painfully, Malfoy brought the limb across his chest so that Hermione could reach out and hold it in her palm.

Silently, she cupped the skin behind his elbow, reaching up with her arm. Gently, much more gently than Malfoy warranted, she pressed the tip of her wand to the lower point of the wound. A silver-gold light pulsed over the skin and slowly, very slowly, the skin began to pull together; fiber by fiber, atom by atom, as if attracted to one another by a polar force. It was as if the wound making was being replayed in reverse.

Hermione was quite, _quite_, proud of the spell she had created a few years ago. It was a difficult one to master, and it worked painstakingly slow, but in the end, there was hardly ever a scar. She had conjured it for the precise reason that Harry had started playing Quidditch.

She could feel Malfoy's gaze.

"Neat trick," he said finally, his voice an octave lower than Hermione remembered. "What do you call it?"

"Cyperaceous."

"Like the plant family?"

"Yes!" Quite surprised, she glanced up at Malfoy, who had cocked an eyebrow at her. She wouldn't admit it, but Hermione was _very_ impressed at that moment. "It's because I had to infuse essence of sweet sedge into the spell fabric. Before, it stung something awful and smelt of watercress; peppery."

"No doubt Pothead and the Weasel were the guinea pigs."

She hesitated, moving her wand further up the wound, "…yes, they were." Malfoy smirked in triumph. "Ron was a pain, he always complained. I was helping him, for Merlin's sake, and he just complained. Couldn't even pronounce the spell either!" She huffed, not realizing she was spewing pent up frustrations at the injured Slytherin.

"Your affinity for knowledge must baffle them."

It took all of Hermione's concentration to not look up in disbelief. Did Malfoy just complement her? Surely not.

"Not surprising," he continued, "seeing as you practically live in the library; bushy hair buried in books.

Oh no Malfoy, she thought, that was one weak cover up.

"Are…" and Hermione didn't know if she was going to regret asking for not. "Are you going to tell me how you got this?" Her wand was already three-fourths up the wound, and she was begging herself to not look at him.

"No," he sneered. "Why should I?"

"Because I'm _helping_ you," she ground out.

"Fine. I cut it."

"_Ob_viously."

"You asked, I answered. Don't think this little bit of _heroics_ entitles you to a full report on what I do in my spare time."

"It seems quite obvious what you do your spare time, Malfoy." Hermione glared pointedly at the wound.

The blonde stiffened, wrenching his arm away as soon as she was finished. "Well," he hissed. "You're done then. Now get out."

"I came in here to take a bath!"

"Well, you're not now."

They glared at each other, and then Malfoy seemed to realize just why he was at such a disadvantage.

"Give me my wand back."

"No."

"Well, move then!"

"No, I will not!"

"Granger, if you don't f_u_cking move-"

"You'll what? Tell on me? Hex me? Bleed on me, then?"

Malfoy glared at her unblinkingly, and Hermione was strangely thrilled to have found some part of her stubborn enough to return it. Besides, he was going to have to do something a lot more intimidating then simply bitch at her.

He sat up, causing Hermione to stand and back away considerably. Then he stood, all six feet of him.

_That_ was intimidating.

Hermione felt her hand flex instinctively around her wand. It was just like Draco Malfoy to instill that kind of impulse, reactionary fear in people. Milk-pale skin stretched over a sleek, Seeker-fit body. Power incarnate.

"Fine," he bit out, not looking at her, oblivious to her slow moving fear. He flexed the fingers of his mended arm. "I cut it mending something. A cabinet. _Now_ will you get out and leave me alone?"

Hermione blinked stupidly at him, "What?" But her momentary dull wittedness just infuriated him move.

His voice was barely a hissing whisper. "I told you what I was doing, that's it. Not satisfied with my answer? Too bad. Must you always need to know the answer to everything?" His arms opened wide, but he flinched from the soreness.

She hated how small her voice sounded echoing around the bathroom, she really did. "I do not."

He deflated a bit, arms relaxing, and leveled her with a strange look. Hermione squirmed. It wasn't cold, only penetrating. Like he was trying to figure out some horribly difficult problem.

But she had to say something- _something_- because his gunmetal gaze was causing her breathing to go all funny again.

"I'll just leave then," she added quickly, turning on her heel to look around to room, trying to get her bearings. With sudden heat rising up into he face, Hermione noticed that in her rush, the towels and clothing she had been holding had fallen to the floor. Her night things- including some of a more _sensitive_ material- were haphazardly tossed into a embarrassingly visible pile. Gritting her teeth, she stomped over and gathered everything up.

"Granger?"

His voice made her pause, her hand on the door. She turned a fraction to look at the man who was… not exactly smiling at her… perhaps it was more of an amused sneer.

"My wand?"

Flustered, Hermione looked first at the stick in her hand and then to Malfoy. She chucked it at him, and then fled from the Prefect's bathroom.

* * *

A/n- So, after a long hiatus of not writing Dramione fanfiction, I've started again. There will be more space between updates, thanks to college, but I should still be able to get this done. Hopefully.

Disclaimer: HPverse is not mine, © JK.

Side note: Malfoy does not have the Dark Mark. It was hinted at in the book, but I never thought that Draco would actually get it. So, he hasn't.


	2. Halfmoons

Into the Vanishing Cabinet

* * *

** Halfmoons**

* * *

It was a Tuesday morning.

It was a Tuesday morning on the fourteenth of June.

It was a Tuesday morning on the fourteenth of June, and in Draco's opinion it was still too early for any serious Death Eater business. Really, it was barely nine. An ungodly hour to be sure. He should have been blissfully asleep, dreaming of the nice hot plate of eggs and kippers he would be tucking into come breakfast. It was Sunday, and seeing as Draco wasn't getting much rest as it were, this was beginning to cut into mealtime too.

"Are you sure it works?" The gruff voice startled Draco from his daydreaming.

"Of course I'm sure," Malfoy snapped, empty stomach only heightening his irritability. "I am standing here, aren't I?" he narrowed his eyes at the large figure of Fenrir Greyback, who was standing near the door.

The werewolf growled at him, barring his teeth. "Careful with your words little Malfoy, or I'll bite that shinny blonde head of."

"Let's not _fight_ boys," came a crooning, pursed-lipped reply before Draco could really get going. Malfoy glanced at his aunt, who was lounging on what looked disturbingly similar to one of the poufs in Professor Trelawney's classroom. Why such an ugly item was being sold at Borgin and Burke was a mystery.

Currently, the woman was bouncing one foot over the other, using her crooked wand to clean underneath her too-long fingernails. Every so often she would look over her shoulder, through the stacks of morally questionable items that filled up the shop, to the window.

Draco turned back around to the cabinet. He'd only just stepped through it minutes before. Examining it closer, he noticed that it was uglier then the one in Hogwarts; more like a sarcophagus then an unassuming cabinet really. Probably use to be stuck up in some poor old chap's entry hall, looking ominous until they had gotten a hold of it.

_They_? Malfoy thought bitterly, running a hand over the bumpy inlayed metal. You're hardly one of them, aren't you? Don't even have the Mark yet. You've got to prove yourself. Got to off someone first.

He flexed his wand hand instinctively, thinking about exactly _who_ he was suppose to be offing.

"Something wrong? You look peaky."

"He always looks peaky, Bells."

"Bugger off." Malfoy dropped his hand from the cupboard's handle. "I cut my arm fixing this one's mate in Hogwarts. Still twinges a bit."

But that admission reminded him of Granger, and he didn't want to be thinking about that insufferable know-it-all at the moment. Because when he thought about _her_, there was a slow rolling uneasiness that settled into his stomach. If he had been unsure about attacking a castle full of sleeping children before, seeing Hermione Granger's stupid face looking up at him with actual _care_ while she fixed him almost had Draco wishing he was at home, in bed. He didn't need her sympathy, but she had offered her help. It was hard for him to say truthfully that he would have helped her in return.

Actually, he wouldn't have, and that was very frustrating.

After the girl had left him in the bathroom, it was hard for Draco to clear the image of her before she took off his cloak. That weary, "Does he have the Mark?" look. Like he was poised to transform into You Know Who right there in the bloody tub.

The only thing that was beneficial about her being there that Friday night was that he had got a good look at her. He'd been following the Trio for years to torment them, but it had been a long time since he'd had a close up viewing of Scarhead's in-house librarian.

She looked the same, except for the teeth, which were smaller. Thanks to him, actually. If he hadn't got her cursed she would still look like a great bushy beaver. That and her bending over his arm gave him quite a good view of her chest.

Now Malfoy was the first to admit that he was particularly picky about who he set his sights on. Not that Granger was one of them. But it wasn't to say he couldn't admire something that was say, up to par.

Besides, he was more discreet then Weasley, who seemed to be prone to talking to girl's chests, rather than the girls themselves.

That boy had no tact.

But perhaps Granger was Hogwart's best-kept secret. Large, bright eyes… perfectly proportionate breasts…

And then the Slytherin actually caught up with his brain and realized what he was thinking. Draco made a face, blanched, and banished Hermione Granger from his thoughts.

From the back room, behind Mr. Borgin's front counter, Thorfinn Rowle was coming around with a teacup clutched his massive fist. Blonde hair, dull squinty eyes… and a brain to match. Malfoy wasn't sure the man even knew how to _brew_ tea. "Who else are we waiting for?" Rowle breathed heavily.

Bellatrix twirled her wand. "Yaxly and Gibbon are around here somewhere."

"Went off to look at the pair of Bucy Racing Goggles Borgins' got for sale in the back room," the werewolf grinned at Malfoy's disgusted look. "Great for your Quidditch enemies. Makes the snitch disappear. Drives them batty."

"So that leaves the Carrows. But then they're always late."

Malfoy threw up his hands as Yaxly and Gibbon appeared on their way back through the stacks of Unmentionable Books, "Is no one on time in this blasted organization?"

"Bells, this is getting to be a bit… _trying_," Greyback ground out, ignoring Draco's outburst. "And we're suppose to wait until**tonight**?" A slow moving grin twisted the wolf's features and the hair on the back of Draco's neck stood on end. "What if we… surprised them a bit?"

At this, Bellatrix uncrossed her legs, eyes having taken on a smoldering, devilish droop. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Think about it. If we go _now_, during breakfast, they'll all be in one little corral," he clenched his hand as if catching something in mid-air. "Easy pickings."

Blood thundered in Draco's head. That was not part of the plan. He had to stall them. "But we've got to wait. He said to wait until dark. Besides, they'll be teachers. They'll-"

His aunt gave a sharp cackle, like she hadn't heard him at all. "Oh that's diabolical." Draco saw Rowle glanced despairingly at his untouched cup of tea, but the other two men seemed excited.

This was **not** how it was suppose to go. They were supposed to leave at _night_. When no one would see them. When the teachers would be in bed. When the casualties would be lowest.

Not that Malfoy had anything against terrorizing those boring little students in that boring little school. Taunt them; tease them, that was all well and good. But attack them? In broad daylight? They wouldn't even have masks on!

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, trying to think. "He'll be mad. Furious."

"Ah, Draco," Bellatrix smiled sweetly at him, too sweetly. "That's where you're wrong. The Dark Lord always encourages a bit on… creativity... on his subject's part."

Malfoy must have looked stupid. There he was standing in his perfectly pressed suit, mouth hanging open. "But…" he tried.

His aunt uncurled herself from where she sat, arching her back like a cat now ready for the hunt. She clicked her teeth together. "My dear Greyback, we might just have to promote you for this wonderful idea." The werewolf's hand came into contact with Draco's shoulder as he was pushed out of the way.

Malfoy couldn't believe his eyes as the five Death Eaters crowded forward, eagerness plastered all over their stupid faces. Weren't they supposed to stick to the plan? To wait for the signal?

A weight dropped into his stomach.

"No." Malfoy stuck out his arm and grabbed the cabinet's handle just before Bellatrix' long nailed fingers could reach it. "We're going to do this right," he hissed through gritted teeth.

His aunt looked perplexed for a moment, as if she couldn't understand what he was talking about. Just as quickly the moment passed, and she pouted at him. "Now Draco," she purred, placing a hand on either of his shoulders. He tried to resist, but her claws dug in and held him tight as she steered him towards the pouf near the window.

The action reminded him briefly of his mother, although it was not a happy memory. When he was a young boy, very young, and had done something undesirable in public, his mother use to take hold of his arm very discreetly, and squeeze a bit in warning. Not too hard mind, but he'd always been left with little half-moon dents in his perfectly pale flesh for a minute or two after.

A fresh wave of unease rose like bile in the back of his throat.

Oh God how he missed his mother. He wanted to see her so badly.

"Now, you be a good little boy and wait here for the Carrows." The other four were already stepping into the cabinet.

Draco was about to open his mouth, but he was pushed down roughly onto the chair. He sneered, pulling out his wand, but stopped. He doubted the Dark Lord would take kindly to his senior member being jinxed.

A harsh laugh spilled from Bella's lips as Draco wilted, knowing he could do nothing.

"Hurry along, Draco dear, don't want all the fun for ourselves!" She was still cackling when the cabinet door closed with a click, cutting her off.


	3. Attack

Into the Vanishing Cabinet

* * *

**Attack**

**

* * *

**

It was a Tuesday morning.

It was a Tuesday morning on the fourteenth of June.

It was a Tuesday morning on the fourteenth of June and Hermione couldn't quite remember when she had awoken to a more beautiful day. In fact, if she were to add up all the fair weather days during the term so far, they would pale in comparison to the stunning beauty of that nine o'clock.

To be honest, it was quite difficult to roll oneself out of bed when you did didn't have a single class until one o'clock, and when that class was Muggle Studies…. why bother? Even so, Hermione was determined to get in a bit of studying in after breakfast with Ron, even if he would baulk and give her _that look_ and whine until her ear near fell off. Or she threatened to hex him.

Groaning, she pulling her knees up to gather more warmth.

Perhaps she wouldn't be that determined… at the moment.

There was sunshine pouring in from the window next to the bed, splashing upon the floor and up half the four-poster. One of the other girls must have opened the drapes; Hermione remembered closing them the night before.

Outside, there wasn't even a cloud. Completely blue. Robin's egg blue.

"Hermione?"

She recognized Ginny's voice and pulled the sheets up over her head, giving a barely audible groan.

"You're not up yet?" The redhead was standing in the doorway.

Hermione looked over the comforter at her, pursing her lips. Finally, she sighed. "I haven't been getting much sleep lately."

Ginny blinked at her, concerned.

Don't look at me like that, Hermione thought hopelessly.

Nothing was _wrong._ Everything was _fine_. Nothing was keeping her up at night. Not the gnawing, frustrating, rip-you-hair-out knowledge that there was something she just **couldn't figure out**.

"You're…" Ginny started, "not sleeping well?"

No, she wasn't. Not since Friday. Not since she'd been up until four in the morning pacing back and forth in the Common Room; torn between running to the Headmaster, running to bed, or running back to the Prefect's bathroom.

Damn you Malfoy, Hermione thought bitterly. What was that blood from anyway? What was he doing in traveling robes?

She was going to figure it out. She was going to figure it out, report him, and then maybe kill him for all the trouble.

"Are you alright?"

Hermione looked up, "Pardon?"

"It's just… it's only ten after nine and you already look like you're about to hex something."

This wasn't working. "Look, Gin, I'll be down in a sec, okay?"

"Well I'm _starving_."

"Go _on_ then!"

"Merlin, you don't need to bite my head off!"

As soon Hermione heard the door close, she vented the rest of her frustration into her pillow. Oh God she was loosing her mind.

Gathering her things- books, bag, wand, a letter to her parents about possible summer plans she had meant to mail before but had never got the chance- Hermione took the every changing staircases down to the Great Hall.

She wasn't surprised at the sight that greeted her as she walked through the double doors. There were few students left at that point, the fear of Voldemort or the Headmaster's failing sanity finally caused some parents to force their children to leave school. The Slytherins were the fewest actually, Hermione noted.

Looking around to the table, she noticed that Pansy was missing. So was Blaise… and Malfoy. His cronies Crabbe and Goyle were stilling alone, looking stupidly lost without their leader.

Malfoy.

Hermione whorled her bottom lit against her teeth.

She hadn't seen him since that Friday night in the Prefect's bathroom. Faintly, as if the memory was slowly fading, she could still see his face. Pale, contorted with acute but controlled pain. Had she done the right thing? It had plagued her the rest of the night, even as she lay under her heavy Gryffindor comforter.

What had not reporting him actually done? What was he doing now that her actions had freed him to do so?

He should have been under House watch, not gallivanting off somewhere.

Besides, he was such a bastard. Why had she helped him? Ron's unwillingness to do homework flashed before her eyes, juxtaposed with Malfoy's quiet intelligence and damned Potions knowledge…. Transfiguration skill… Ancient Runes affin-

There was no mistake that he scored marks nearly as high as she did. Hermione knew this. She just didn't understand who could have time for moral debauchery _and_ studying all in the same weekend.

Hermione reached the Gryffindor table.

It didn't surprise her that Harry wasn't there, sitting next to Ron, across from Ginny. He had been scarce of late, always sneaking off by himself. He was up to something with Dumbledore, but he still hadn't involved his best friends. That was… infuriating, and made Hermione uneasy. Without knowing where that boy was, they couldn't help him. They _always_ helped him.

"Morning," Hermione sat down heavily next to Ginny, who was spooning a basted egg onto her plate.

"Look who's up," the other girl snipped.

Ron peered over his folded copy of the Daily Prophet at the girls. "You don't have class until this afternoon."

"I _know_," Hermione pulled a bowl of porridge. "I just want to get an early start. It's so beautiful out."

Ron nodded, but he'd already stopped listening, his attention instead direction to the paper. He scoffed, and shoved the paper away from him. "Load of rubbish, the lot of it. Look, they've started outright attacking Dumbledore now! Makes me sick."

Ginny tutted. "Ron, people don't believe everything they read."

"Oh yeah?" He leaned in, "Then why are classes empty, huh? Why is only half the damn student body left by now?"

Hermione, unfortunately, had to agree. People were stupid; they took information at face value and didn't bother with common sense. The fact that most of the Hogwart's parents had pulled their students from the roster was proof they read and believed what the Profit was telling them. She watched Ron sit back in his seat, deflated.

She felt a pang of sympathy. He'd been on edge since Harry had gone off alone. She couldn't blame him, she too felt pushed to the wayside. It was unsettling to know your best friend could be in real danger and you had no power to stop it.

Hermione sipped her tea, thoughts dark despite the beautiful day. She scanned the Hall, eyes traveling over the practically empty teachers' table. Only Flitwick and Sprout were at breakfast that day. Then she settled on the Slytherin table, and her mood did _not_ improve.

God she was itching to know what was going on. Missing Slytherin students is a suspicious thing, and Hermione could think of only two reasons why they would be absent.

A, something bad was going to happen, so their parents had yanked them home lest they be killed or maimed or gored or whatever Dark Magic usually does to people… dangle them upside own by their knickers, that sort of thing.

Or-

B, something bad was going to happen and they were _involved_. Like Voldemort's soldiers in training.

But Blaise of all people! He was a Prefect, and although Hermione knew he liked to throw his lot in with the rest of them, she couldn't see him as morally degenerate. They'd worked together on Prefect business, albeit she was sure it was grudgingly on his part, but he hadn't called her names or forced his pure-bloodedness upon her.

Unlike some people she knew.

Maybe his mother had just wanted to protect him.

She could see Pansy and Malfoy being in cahoots of course. Set fire to the Astronomy Tower, or maybe let loose all of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts… but serious Death Eater business?

_I cut it mending something._

She could hear Malfoy's words in her head; that half-hearted explanation that explained nothing at all.

_I cut it mending something. A cabinet_.

Death Eater business?

Surely not.

The thought of Draco Malfoy plotting the assassination of the British Prime Minister via china hutch caused her to stifle a giggle.

But a voice in the back of her head began nagging, tugging her forward.

Ah, that little voice said, you're being quite naïve. Either quite naive or just plain stupid.

And so Hermione leaned into the table and opened her mouth, ready to ask Ron if he thought something felt… amiss that morning. Like they'd missed something along the way.

And if he was still worried about Harry.

And if they should go to the Library to study, or perhaps to Hagrid's.

But she never got to it.

_CA-RACK!_

It was like the sound had been suddenly muted on the telly, like some immense explosion had absorbed all the noise in the room all at once.

It took just a moment for Hermione to realize that the _reason_ there was so sound was that she had gone partially deaf, and that she was no longer sitting at the Gryffindor table.

In the seconds it took for her to blink, something had shot out from the entrance of the Great Hall and had smashed into the room, tendrils licking down like lightening. It had upended the tables, upon which the students sat, and Hermione had been thrown sideways to the wall.

It had been so loud she felt as if cotton had been stuffed into her ears, and although there was chaos all around her she could barely hear the screaming. For a moment she simply lay on her side, chest rising up and down as she struggled not to continue hyperventilating. Somehow her school bag had got tangled in her arms, and she was crushing her books to her chest as if they might save her.

From her horizontal position she could barely see through the massive cloud of dust and rubble, and one of the overturned tables was obscuring her view. That same table had pinned a second year boy she'd seen from Hufflepuff. He wasn't moving. There was blood all over the floor.

Hermione closed her eyes as bright green and red and gold sparks shot out from every which way… people fighting, or fighting back.

"R- Ron!" She attempted to call, but her voice was barely a hissing whisper, and she choked on the thick white dust. Receiving no response Hermione sat up, trying to gather her bearings.

Disoriented and in a state of utter shock, she didn't even think of taking out her wand. The whole attack has taken them completely by surprise.

_Attack_.

Oh God, she thought, I'm going to be killed. They're going to find me and _kill_ me.

Something came out of nowhere and hit the table pinning the Hufflepuff boy. The wood splintered and exploded, startling Hermione out of her stupor.

She bit down hard to keep from screaming. She tasted blood.

Immediately she flattened herself back against the ground, and now she could hear the sounds. Sounds of spells and people's names, of cries of pain and shocked screaming. Wriggling, she moved along the outer wall in a slow arm over arm kind of way, dragging her books behind her.

Time felt as if it had slowed to a crawl.

"Hermione! Hermione!" Hannah Abbot, with her wand out and raised, was motioning to her through the chaos.

"Where's Ron!"

"Just slipped out the door with Ginny. She got hit with a candlestick flying off the table; he's taking her to the Hospital Wing!"

Idiot, Hermione thought, the Hospital Wing won't help you if the whole castle's being razed to the ground.

Another explosion rocked the room, and suddenly sunlight was streaming in through the ceiling. A huge gaping hole had been blasted through the enchantment overhead. Hermione fell sideways and lost sight of Hannah, but the doors to the Great Hall were only a few feet away. If she could only reach them she could escape, go find Ron and regroup, go back and save the others… if they could.

Hermione was the first to admit she was the least athletic person she knew. Couldn't fly a broom…could barely kick a football. But at that moment all the strength she had seemed to pour into her legs as she pushed herself to stand. Just one foot in front of the other.

"Oiy!" A gruff voice called out very near to her right ear. Someone's large, rough hand had closed around her arm.

She was so close…

Instinctively Hermione twisted, swinging her knee around towards her attacker. The contact to his groin made the man choke out a painful cry and double over.

"Fucking bitch!"

She wiggled, his hand slipping.

Two more steps. Just two more.

At full tilt Hermione yanked and stumbled backwards, nearly falling but able to cross the threshold into the Entrance Hall. Her chest burned from strain, but she was free. She was out. She was safe.

Hermione could feel the spell before it hit her. The hair on her neck and arms were suddenly on end, and she knew that if her wand was in her hand she could have countered the curse. But alas, she was otherwise not so quick.

Her eyes shut tight, waiting for the blow.

Something white hot, nearly liquid, struck her right in the middle of her back, picking her up and throwing her violently forward.

Just before the spinning world sank into blackness, Hermione was expecting to land very hard upon the stone ground. Instead she fell down into warmth, into unbelievable softness that held her tight.

The rushing noise around her quieted to a dull humming.

Was that her heartbeat she heard, strong and pounding?

Perhaps she was dead already…

Hands turned her over, cradling. A low-voiced gasp stirred the hair plastered to her forehead.

Hermione didn't open her eyes. She couldn't have even if she wanted to.

Her name was said low, in perhaps a whisper.

Maybe Ron had come back to save her…

* * *

A/n- Hope you enjoy! The next chapter coming soon; please review and tell me what you think!


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